At the Threshold of Dawn
by Symphony7
Summary: Speros R. Janessa is, for the most part, a completely normal pirate sailing with a Yonko in the New World. She has a great crew, two insane and wonderful brothers, and is living the dream. But it wasn't always wonderful. Branded with an odd mark since birth, her only escape is life on the high seas. But no one can run forever. Not even a demon's descendant.


"He's closing in. 100 yards. 50. 30. Shit, he's right on top of you, move it Janessa!"

I shoved the Den Den Mushi deeper into my pocket. "Geezus, shut up, shut up, he'll here you! I'm trying to get a clear shot. Didn't your mother ever teach you the benefits of being patient?" I whispered hastily into the mouthpiece. "How can you even see me from here? Aren't you back on the ship?"

"I was. Then I got bored. Ok, look, he's literally right in front of you, just shoot him!"

"Ok, fine! Don't blame me if I miss." I hissed into the snail. I shoved the eyeglass up to my face, and did my best to focus through the tall wheat grass. The faint crushing noise of heavy boots against the dead grass was coming closer. He was now only feet away from me. I breathed in quietly, but deeply, doing my best to keep my breaths as silent as possible. The wheat underneath my forearms prickled as I shifted my weight. I dared to gaze up at the testosterone packed human above me.

Black cargo shorts with an odd knife strapped to a belt, along with rippling abdominal muscles, a red beaded necklace, a strong, determined face squinting into the sun with a faint line of freckles dusted across a nose and cheeks, and a orange cowboy hat with two blue smileys strapped across the front covered thick black hair to top off the look. He turned around to face the woodland area behind him, as if he were looking for something. He also had a gun strapped across his back. A great purple cross of bones and a large grinning face with a white mustache decorated the back of his torso.

_Jackpot._

I leapt from the grass raising the gun over my head, aiming it directly at his chest. His reflexes were incredible. He spun around, gun ready in an instant, and before we knew it, we shot each other both squarely in the chest…

With seawater.

"Holy crap!" The man exclaimed, gasping for breath from the impact of the life-sapping liquid. "How much pressure did you put in that thing?!"

I was already on the ground, clutching my chest. It felt as if my maroon tank top was strangling me. Curly brown hair caught in my mouth as I heaved. "I should say the same to you, Ace! I thought sibling quarrels were over between us, weren't they?!" I was now rolling on my back, laughing. This was too ridiculous for me now.

Ace snorted loudly, now loosing his focus too. "Haha, I thought that too. Maybe it was just bad timing?" He chuckled, holding out his hand.

"Hee heee, yeah. Probably. Not like our 'friendly bickering' or 'tests of strength' happen on a regular basis or anything." I teased, taking his hand and hoisting myself to my feet. I brushed off the dirt from my jeans, sending off clouds of dust into the midday sunlight.

"Geez, it's really bright out today, huh?" I said, raising a hand to my eyes for shade. The bright ball of flames hung in the sky like a golden coin, it's rays casting light on the wheat field we stood in.

"Eh, it's not so bad." Ace said, shrugging.

"Big talk coming from a man made of fire." I gave him a sidelong look and narrowed my eyes.

"Whatever. Hey, didn't you have a Den Den Mushi with you? I thought I heard someone speaking from it." He inquired, looking down to my 5'4 build from his towering height 6'1. Towering to me, anyway. It was hard to believe he was only four months older than myself.

"Yeah, I did- well, I _do._ I told Haruta to keep his voice down." I said, glaring down at pocket I stuck the communication device in.

"I can still here you, ya know! You never hung up the receiver!" A muffled, high-pitched, angry voice complained from the bulge in my pant leg.

"You mean you can hear me because of the fact that I never hung up the receiver? Or because you're in the trees behind me, the snoop that you are?" I glanced behind me, and suddenly, as if right on cue, rustling and a panicked squeak came from tall oak tree about three rows back. Several golden leaves fell to the ground. Ace and I snickered loudly.

"You can come out of there now, Mr. 12th Commander. What's done is done, you know." Ace called out, his wavy black hair catching in a slight breeze.

"Aww, I thought I masked my presence perfectly!" A young man with lank brown hair wearing a medieval-themed outfit emerged from the golden brown and yellow foliage. His green eyes had a glint of frustration in them, mouth curled downward. He hopped down from branches almost soundlessly.

"There's always next time." I told him, and turned to Ace. "Since training with water guns was kinda a bust, what do you want to do now? Go back to the ship?"

"Hmm. It's only 12:34, and the sun won't set for another six or seven hours at best." He said, checking his watch. "Wanna loiter?" He suggested shrugging, giving me a lopsided smile.

"Sure. It is what we do best, after all. Pirating and loitering always seem to go hand in hand. Wanna come, Haruta? Three's a crowd, and crowd's always seem to be more fun." I invited.

"Yeah, why not. My stakeout would've been for nothing if I didn't get any benefit from it, I suppose." He smiled and headed towards us.

So, loiter we did. The autumn island of Sieraide had beautiful sailing weather year round, and luckily is was fairly easy to access, so the sixteen divisions of the Whitebeard Pirates naturally have a tendency to meet up here. I myself, as a lover of nice weather, have never had any complaints to this habit whatsoever.

Haruta, Ace and I had spent about three hours walking around the island's cobblestone roads, debating about whether Red-Haired Shanks or Kaido would win in a duel and finally agreeing that Oyaji would eventually beat the shit out of both of them, telling mindless jokes and bartering for the local red wine with street dealers when we finally decided to head back to the ship, carrying gallons upon gallons of alcohol in sacks on our backs. There would be more than a few hangovers in the morning.

As we walked towards Sieraide's north shore, the sounds of rowdiness and the smell of smoke grew stronger with every step.

"Looks like they've started without us." I said, almost to no one.

"Cliquish bastards." Ace added, his excited expression and mirthful tone of voice betraying his previous statement.

"Absolutely heartless." Haruta agreed, his reaction to the enveloping merrymaking also polar opposite to his claim.

"Then I propose that we crash that little get-together and show those numbskulls the _right _way to party, what d'you to say?" I asked them. Both grinned widely.

"Aside from the wine, best idea I've heard all day." Ace gave me a toothy smile.

"I think I can manage that." Haruta chimed in.

So, off we merry men and woman went to deliver the intoxicating nectar to our many brothers and sisters, old and young, microscopic and gigantic. I mentally braced myself for the damage that the party would do to my five senses, and almost decided that I wouldn't drink that night in fear of the pounding headache that I'd get in the morning.

But I did say _almost_, didn't I?

"Hey you! Yeah, you! Your head kinda looks like a pineapple…" I slurred, giggling drunkenly, the bottle of red wine in my hand spilling it's contents into my mouth, most of it missing my lips and spilling down my face. It didn't phase my loopy happiness, though. I had a buzz ages ago, but was convinced by fellow crewmates to 'let loose and have a good time'. My sight doubled as my knees buckled into the sand, luckily far away from the tide.

"As you've told me many times." A tall, blonde haired man replied in an agitated voice. His purple over shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a large bulk of muscle and a navy blue tattoo: the abbreviation of the Whitebeard Pirates' jolly roger. Stubble lined a prominent jaw and heavy lidded blue eyes rolled, the bonfire reflected in them. Marco, the first division commander, reclined on a fallen tree that had rolled down from the forest above us, one arm draped over a stray boulder embedded in the pinkish hued sand, and the other holding a shot glass filled with dark rum. His face was only slightly flushed despite the hard alcohol's influence, and he seemed well aware of what he was saying. Quite unlike myself at the time.

Most of the crew had already passed out several hours ago. They lay in the sand, men and women alike, and limbs tangled in a heap, stray bottles of rum, wine, and other drinks scattered about randomly. Heavy snoring was an echo all around, but only a minor noise compared to the roaring of the sea against the sharp rocks of the reef. Apart from the dozens of bonfires we lit, and the faint glow from the local town a mile away, the stars and full moon above us in the black sheet of a sky were are only source of light. The moon hung in the sky, suspended directly over the ocean, casting white streaks in the distant waves.

Knees wobbling violently, I rose to my feet and trudged over to another dead tree that we had rolled down from the forest. It lay across from the bonfire of which Marco sat on the opposite side. I dropped myself down heavily onto it. My long, curly hair was draped around my head, my bangs falling into my eyes. I pushed them back roughly, gazing into the dancing red and yellow flames. The heat from the fire was comforting in the chilly night breeze. Sparks flew up in the air as an ember cracked loudly.

"I see _someone's_ been drinking." Marco raised an eyebrow at me, smiling slightly. "You might want to fall asleep soon. You'll have a better chance of sleeping off that nasty hangover you're gonna get."

I shrugged, rubbing my green eyes hard. "It's just a headache in the end. I'm not gonna die. How's the rum treatin' ya?" I asked, speech still slurred. "Gettin' a buzz yet?"

"Nothing I can't handle." He replied nonchalantly. "You, on the other hand, should stop before it gets worse." He reached over, avoiding the flames, and snatched my wine bottle away before I had a chance to protest. In the end, I'm glad he did it.

"Come on, it's not gonna hurt me, or anythin'…"

"No."

"_Please_ give it back?"

"No."

"But I said please-"

"_No, _Janessa."

I gave him a childish pout. Please, please, _please_ keep in mind that I was drunk out of my mind at the time. I usually don't act like that, honest I don't.

Marco sighed heavily, setting the wine on the other side of his tree bench.

"You know, every time we all meet up at Seiraide, you always go straight for the wine. How come?" He asked me innocently. He was prying again. Even though I was tipsy, I was still careful of what words I chose for my answer. Don't get me wrong, I trust Marco with my life, being crewmates and friends after all, but I still didn't want him to know too much about my background. It's a fairly touchy subject for me, even around close friends, but even that's an understatement. I finally decided on what to say.

"You want the raw, straightforward answer, the cool, cryptic one, or a mixture of the two?"

Marco considered it for a moment, then spoke. "Whichever tells the better story." He shrugged and gave me a lopsided smile.

I looked up to the night sky, speckled with tiny lights that were tens of thousands of miles away from me. I suddenly felt very small. Not vulnerable, just… small.

"The taste reminds me of the better part of my memories, something I have had a severe deficit of in years past." I replied shortly. "Does that answer work for you?"

"Yeah, I think does for now. I'll piece it together on my own and see what I come up with. You know how I can't stand not knowing things." He grinned at me. I smiled back, sleep now coaxing it's way into the deep recesses of my mind. Marco must have noticed the sudden change in my expression.

"You need to rest now. You're gonna have one hell of a headache in the morning, you know." He got up from his seat and walked over to me. He laid a hand on my head and ruffled my hair, something he tended to do when we ended a deep conversation.

"'Night, Marco…" I said in a singsong voice, leaning over to the right and hugging the dead tree, brown hair falling over my face and dropping lightly in the sand.

"Good night, Janessa." I heard him leave behind me, going to reside in some other place, probably.

I glanced up at the sky again, letting my mind wander until I swore I saw figures made of the stars dancing in the great black bowl.

_Night is pretty…_

Sleep tugged my eyelids closed and drifted over me like a blanket.

I was out cold.


End file.
